often wondered why it was that, miserable as the earl's life was, or
seemed to them, they always felt merrier instead of sadder when they
were in his company.

But sometimes when with Helen alone, and more especially as he grew to
be a youth in his teens, and yet no bigger, no stronger, and scarcely
less helpless than a child, the young earl would let fall a word or two
which showed that he was fully and painfully aware of his own condition,
and all that it entailed. It was evident that he had thought much and
deeply of the future which lay before him. If, as now appeared
probable, he should live to man's estate, his life must, at best, be one
long endurance, rendered all the sharper and harder to bear because
within that helpless body dwelt a soul, which was, more than that of
most men, alive to every thing beautiful, noble, active, and good.

However, though he occasionally betrayed these workings of his mind, it
was only to Helen, and not to her very much, for he was exceedingly
self-contained from his childhood. He seemed to feel by instinct that
to him had been allotted a special solitude of existence, into which,
try as tenderly as they would, none could ever fully penetrate, and with
which none could wholly sympathize. It was inevitable in the nature of
things.

He apparently accepted the fact as such, and did not attempt to break
through it. He took the strongest interest in other people, and in
every thing around him, but he did not seem to expect to have the like
returned in any great degree. Perhaps it was one of those merciful
compensations that what he could not have he was made strong enough to
do without.